Deadly Obessesions
by Acciodoublestuffed
Summary: Synlet, sequel to No Longer the Villain. has descended on Metroville. The want for the untouchable he wants anything that he can't have, the want for the unatainable he wants everything that is impossible, and the want for the undesirable she's sick of
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Incredibles, and I can admit that now…

**A/N:** Finally done!! Yeah!!!! Really Guille van Cartier deserves to cyber-punch me, because I told her I'd be posting in a couple minutes, then my boyfriend showed up and I had to leave, lol. We went to go see _Blades of Glory _and _Meet the Robinsons_. Both of them were superb. Another score for both Will Ferrel and Pixar. Its amazing to see how far Pixar has come since The Incredibles. They really have progressed.

Anyways, I'm glad to finally have this chappie up. First, hope the formatting is alright. I had some computer troubles this time around, so hope everything appears fine, lol. Also, this chapter is a little confusing. It starts out in the present, and then skips backwards, where almost the entire fic will take place. So, yeah, if you don't get it message me and I'll talk ya through it, lol. I have a lot of ideas for this fic. It's going to be very different from NLtV, in that it will be more plot heavy, hopefully more realistic, and more angst. I believe I have grown as a write both since and through NLtV, and hope I reflect that in my work.

I am still working on the next chapter of my SynletAU and my ANGST-Synlet-fic-to-come, but with the school play practices running late and calculus kicking my butt, I am hard pressed to find the time, lol. OH, also, I got accepted to my number one college choice on Thursday, so YEAH, I hear they have a great creative writing program, which is going to be my minor, so YIPPEE!!!!!

**Timeline**: Syndrome's trial took one year. Then his house arrest was for four months. I'm guessing that Syndrome was eight when he attempted to become Incrediboy. So during the movie I'm saying that he was twenty-two. I'm also considering that the movie took place during spring. (They did go to a track meet) So Violet had just finished her eighth grade year and was going to be a freshman. Now three years later she is into the second semester of her junior year of high school, and she is **seventeen**, while Syndrome is **twenty-five**. I'm guessing its late August-early-September-ish. There you go, the longest background info you will ever get!!

**Chapter 2**

I'm seventeen.

I'm too young, but here it is, my little life flashing before my eyes.

I can see it all. My reigned in youth flashes quickly. Now, only two dividing marks stand out: the Nomanisan incident and my _personal_ incident. Both with _him_.

I'm seventeen.

It happened suddenly, and I like it less than sixteen, and doubly so than fifteen.

Why?

Because everyday, every hour, every minute, every second - I long ago stopped wearing watches, the movements, _tick, tick, tick,_ too painful. The distance hurt - I am farther away than before.

My memory defies me. His face fades, but the feelings are just as strong as two years ago. I gave up trying to forget. That was useless, I learned. I still fall into the back of my mind and try to fit back into my fifteen year old body. The fit is snug, but his warm hands and his smell, cologne and smoke, are worth it. So much has happened, that I try to stop, but can't help pulling into that former self of mine.

I'm so different and yet, the same. Perhaps, if he saw me, he would think me shallow. For it is true; I chose Brittany.

It had been easy at first Right after the _incident_, I had needed Britt. I had needed her brashness and speed and unpredictability. I'd needed it much more than food - I remember losing weight. More than liquid - I remember that time I passed out, at the skating rink. 

The cheerleader was patient. I guess she knew that best friends were rarely made over night, though, really, this friendship had been something of that sort. She had waited months to start her transformation process. 

Britt had begun by teaching me what it meant to have a socialite friendship, versus Kari, which had been one built due to us both being mutual outcasts. I remember Brittany borrowing a belt of mine for over a week. With Kari, borrowing had been strictly for necessity and special occasions. Then said item had been returned promptly the next day or, if a clothing item, after the next laundry day. After a couple days of dropping hints, Brit gave me an incredulous look. "_Vi_," She'd said. "Borrowing, that's what friends _do_." 

So it went on, with us, borrowing for weeks at a time, spending weekends and after schools together. It seemed too easy, and of course, it was. 

I remember the morning Brittany dropped the bomb. We were in her car - she had started taking me to school shortly after second semester sophomore year - and she was rattling off the all the gossip she had heard since last night. She had a way of knowing just about everything that went on within the high school. I was hardly listening, and apparently she noticed. 

"_Violet!_"

I had shaken my head, suddenly awake. "What?"

"Did you hear?" she had asked, all sly.

"I guess not."

"Well, I bet you won't guess who Niki went to see last night."

"Um, her boyfriend?"

She sighed exasperatedly, "No, where's the fun in that? I ran into her and Travis Hoy at the party last night, in a _very_ compromising situation."

"Travis? I thought he was dating Vivian?"

"Exactly."

I blinked a few times, trying to digest this new development. The thing was, Vivian was a good friend of Kari's and friend-by-association to me. We had never been close, but she had always been cordial. She had always invited me to outings, not wanting to leave me out. We were in the same social group because of Kari, but I had yet to figure out how Britt figured into all of this. "Are you sure it was Travis?"

"Would I be telling you if I wasn't sure? Well, actually, I probably would, but seriously, its true. I showed up at the party, went to put on some lipstick, and there they were playing dentist, right in the bathroom."

My brow crinkled in deliberation - we weren't friends, but I still ought to tell her right? - and, apparently, Britt noticed. "Vi, you won't tell, will you?"

"Brittany, _friggin_, then why did you tell me?"

"Because I thought you would want to know!"

"I do, but I don't, of my gosh, Britt!"

"Vi," Brittany pleaded, as she pulled into the parking lot. "Please, promise me you won't tell."

I shook my head, remembering the last time I'd been asked to make a promise - _Never see him again_. In the past months, I'd grown an aversion to making binding promises. "No, I can't promise you that." I got out before Brittany could say another thing.

I walked around that day very aware of all the opportunities - and oh, how many there were - I had to go up to Kari or Vivian, but I didn't. At the end of the day I met Britt back at her car.

"Why didn't you tell?"

I kept my recently acquired poker face in check. "How do you know I didn't?"

"I know everything that does on in our school, and Vivian still thinks her life is peachy keen. So, why?"

I threw my bag into her backseat and hopped into the passenger. "I don't know."

She shrugged. "Good enough for me."

After that, things droned on. Shopping trips with Brittany filled my closet with more trendy outfits, and after one particular sleep over, I found an assortment of makeup in my top drawer. So, I thought, a hint. Things began to look up for me. Looking back, I can see that after the _incident_ I had a not-quite bought with depression, but Britt saved me. For that I am thankful.

I was still myself, but after that, I felt stronger. I felt that I could overcome many things, if I could over come _him_. That of course, was still a work-in-progress, but that was better than a work-not-in-progress.

I became less uptight. I was still quiet, but now confident. I guess I am trying to say that I grew up.

My appearance gave me a way to show the world how I felt: better. I was beginning to even get looks from some of the boys, even a double take from Tony, once. Yes, I wasn't interested, in Tony or any other boy, but it was still nice. Then, things took a turn.

It was during lunch. Everyone was laughing and joking, when Vivian came up, mascara streaming down her face. She tapped on Niki's shoulder. "Travis says that you and him never did anything, but I have _heard_ things."

Conversation stopped, as Niki stood up. At her super model height of 5'8'', she towered over the honor roll student. "What are you going to do if things did happen?"

I was shocked, but after hanging around with Brittany, I had learned that the "cool kids" were not to be trifled with. Vivian, seemed to realize this, for she nodded and turned. Everyone at the table sighed, crisis averted, but then, she whipped around and _pushed_.

Niki fell to the floor, her mini skirt flying. This incited a cheer from the male members of the audience. In a moment she was up and headed for Vivian, but Tony intervened, holding the gorgeous girl back. Also, Travis had appeared, holding back his distraught girlfriend.

As teachers finally noticed the situation and escorted both girls to the principle's office, I found myself suddenly in front of Kari. She said nothing, but she didn't need to. I could read it in her eyes: _You knew_.

After moments that felt like years, Kari left and I made no move to follow. Because I had made my choice. I had thrown in my lot with Brittany and, like my prideful father, I refused to go back on my choice, though it might not have been the best or right one.

I used to feel bad, but pushed those feelings back, into the past. I had seen first hand the destructive effects of living in the past, both in my father and in _him_. So now I walk forward, in life, trying to step beyond the past and into the future, and at night, I may dream of regret, though not concerning Kari, but concerning two weeks out of my life, with _him_.

I finally realize: it all leads back to him.

Sad, how, at the end, it all makes sense.

I get it now. We screwed up, the three of us, and all it took was three, three unhealthy obsessions. The balance that supers, my parents, my brother, _even me_, had worked so hard to create is shaken. The balance was fragile, and all it took was three.

_The want for the untouchable:_ He wanted everything he couldn't have. He always did, and I hated him for it. I still hate him for it. It's sad, I would think everyone who begins forever would want to leave while on good terms with everyone, but not me. Though, my hatred it deserved, and part of the ruin and fallout that shall follow belongs on his shoulders.

_The want for the unattainable: _He wanted everything that was denied him. In his youth he wanted different DNA. If only God worked that way, but no. Then he wanted fame and freedom and revenge, and then I too was added to his list. When he finally grew up, was ready to receive what he had always worked so hard for, his own sick, guilty conscious wouldn't let him take it. No, it said, you don't deserve this. I ran to him, because of my father, and after a while he drove me away too. He drove me to this. So, yes, part of the blame is also his.

_The want for the undesirable:_ I wanted everything that wasn't right. As a child I wanted boring normalcy. Then I wanted him, and truth be told, he was never a "pretty" thing. Then villainy taunted my mind, though not for long, and now, all I want is to be away. That too wasn't pretty, and suddenly even less so. Blood is rarely described as pretty. This is my fault, but not entirely, though mostly…

Questions are still coming, pictures still flashing. My vision blurs as the decent is too fast…

Where does is all begin? When I tear down everything, all my presuppositions, what do I have left? When everything is stripped away, who am I at the core?

My father, at the center is a hero. As much as he would like to be - or, perhaps, wouldn't - a husband, father, or friend first, he is a super, through and through. Even he isn't super enough to fix this one.

My mother, before all else, is a mother, but now I can see that she used to have a different order of self-affiliation. At one time she was a woman, borderline feminist, then a super. Soon, wife cut in, quickly followed by mom. Now, she is going back into the working field, but yet, mother still trumps all. Wish I knew what would come next.

Rick Dicker, that somewhat permanent fixture around the house, is, at the core, a suit. He is a man looking at the world through the eyes of his job. He is always viewing the world in terms of black and white. At the center, he is a man of unwavering; he is a man of definite right and wrong. He draws a line in the sand and waits to see who will cross it. Too bad I blew that line away.

_Him_.

That one is significantly harder. _He_ is so much harder to decipher, to break down. He, I suppose, is a question mark, where he once was a goal. He is now a twig blowing in the winder, never sure, never sure. I tried to hold on, but he pulled away.

And me? I don't know.

I don't know, but if I had to decide, I suppose, that beneath my skin, I'm not a woman first or a teenager, or even a super, but somehow that all ties into who I really am. I suppose, at the core, I am invisible.

_Though it matters little now…_

_Oh…_

_I can seen land, dear God, I'm sorry I dragged all these people into this… I'm sorry Snug, your beautiful plane…I'm sorry Rick, I lied… I'm sorry Brittany, these are your shoes, and blood doesn't come off… I'm sorry Tony, she cheats on you and I should have said something a long time ago… I'm sorry Jack-Jack, I would have liked to see you grow up… I'm sorry Dash, I love you and should have told you instead of call you names… I'm sorry Daddy, it's wrong to hate you… I'm sorry Mommy, I never deserved flying lessons… I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to add to your already burdened shoulders…_

oOo

_Seven months earlier…_

"How do you feel now?"

"Nothing."

Buddy sighed, "Come on!"

"Seriously Buddy, nothing. There is not a single cell in my body that feels attracted to you," she paused, her breathing forced. "Now get off me, and get _me_ off your desk!"

The CEO ran a hand through his bright hair and stood. He reached out and picked the woman up with ease, but after her feet were safely on the floor he refused to let go. "Babe, why won't you go out with me? I mean," he smirked. "I am quite a catch, if you hadn't noticed."

"Two words: deranged fangirls."

Buddy removed his hands. Yes, he supposed, his fans could be described as such. He stomped over to the window, sulking. Angela waited for his response, knowing one was coming. "I just don't _get_ it! You broke up with your boyfriend, what six months ago? Don't you think it's time to, I don't know, move on?"

She stood, fuming, from where she had been picking up displaced papers, from the desk escapade. "Don't you even pull the 'move on' card, or I will be forced to throw that one right back at you."

Buddy gave her a look. "Uncalled for. Really, must you bring up that whole messy episode so often?"

She turned smug. "The fact that you knew exactly what I am referring to proves my point. _Move on_, but please, for my sake, do it by yourself. I refuse to be another of your rebound girls. Which by the way, you passed your 'rebound girl' quota a long time ago."

Buddy practically hopped. "See! See how well you know me!"

"Yeah, I do know you. You are like a brother to me."

He cringed. "Ok, enough of that thought-"

"But since we are on the subject, what have you stalkers turned up recently, concerning not so little Violet Parr?"

"I _do not_ keep tabs on her," he shook his head. "You make me sound like some dirty old man."

"You _are_ a dirty old man." She straightened the rest of his desk, but cleared a small place. She hopped up, gracefully. "So, your calendar shows that your lawyer asked you to meet him for lunch. What does he want?"

Buddy shook his head, brushing off the question. "Something about tax season and making sure I'm not evading my taxes again or anything else incriminating."

"How thrilling."

Buddy walked up and placed both hands on either side of her. "You sure you don't want to give us a try? I'd be a great boyfriend, better than you think."

She smiled. "I know you would, but we both know it wouldn't mean anything."

"Really?"

She gave him a look, having already answered this question twenty other times, twenty other ways. "Yes, now you are going to be late." She straightened his collar, but stopped half way.

Her hand reeled. She slapped him, hard. "_Get your hand off me leg!_"

oOo

Doctor Randall Swane sat, uncomfortably straight in the country club lawn chair. He had never been to a country club, and the jumpy man didn't seem to be much enjoying the event now. He found himself there due to an invitation to play golf with his only friend from college that he still kept in touch with, Ricky Dicker. 

The doctor couldn't help chuckling at his own nickname from _back in the day_, Swaying Randy, a play on his last name and reference to his first party and run in with alcohol. He had been a small town boy, a good country boy as his aunt loved to say. He had felt the culture shock all too drastically when thrown into a state college. 

He remembered the night that his nickname had been coined not nearly clear enough. He had never before tasted alcohol, excepting Catholic communion. The last thing he remembered from the night of the party was his friends pulling him into some sort of drinking game. 

Randy wasn't very good at the game, and, consequently, remembered precise little from the rest of the night, mostly sounds and noise, slow noise. 

The next morning, he recalled, he awoke to pain and bright light. The light seemed righteous, similar to his ideas of Heaven, but surely Heaven wouldn't make his head throb so badly, would it? Why, in God's name, no - no pun intended, especially if this was Heaven - had St. Peter let him after last night's shenanigans... 

Last night... 

The door opened, he heard, as well as a voice. "You're wise to keep your eyes shut. The light'll getcha every time. I'll get the blinds." 

Randall waited, eyes pressed tight, until he heard the cheap blinds creak against one another, shutting. When he saw darkness behind his eyelids, he finally blinked open an eye and saw a long nosed man in front of him. "You don't drink a lot." 

"What makes you say that?" Randy answered. He tried to sit up, but his head forced him back down. 

"_That_," The man said, pointing to Randall. "I hardly remember my first party too, so I can spot a green fella from a mile out. It ain't so bad if you stay in the single digits." 

Randy groaned. "I made a fool out of myself, didn't I?" 

"I'd go as far as to say you did." 

"They say fools travel in packs. You got a name, fool?" 

"I'm not the one asleep well past noon, now am I?" He chuckled. "Name's Rick Dicker. No need to tell me yours. They were chanting 'Swaying Randy' on our way out." 

Randall finally managed to sit up. "My nickname still ain't as bad as yours, I'll bet." 

Randy managed to mumble out, causing the other man to chuckle... 

From then on they'd been drinking buddies, and after college, tailgating buddies. Now too old for any of that, golf buddies, apparently - 

"Hello, Randy!" 

The skittish doctor jumped to his feet, but seeing Ricky, hurried to him and shook his hand fiercely. "How long have you been here, Swane?" 

"Not too long. What kept you?" 

"Well, I had thought I was bringing another friend of mine, but he cancelled when I was a couple minutes from his house." 

Randall shook his head. "Ain't that always the way." 

"Ain't it. Well let's hit the green as my wife says." Randall knew Rick's wife well, she was a pretty, intelligent woman. The only sadness the couple had ever known was not being able to have children of their own. Randall and his own wife had been kind enough to make them the godparents of their three children. "She's the one who got me started on this sport. You any good?" 

"I would say not a bit, but I've never played, so I don't even know that." They laughed, and Rick led the way to a golf cart. "Then this'll be interesting." 

The hours dragged, and Randall didn't lose heart, but did manage to lose al his golf balls. At that point, the men decided it was time to call it quits. Rick drove them back towards the club house, breaching the subject that had been on his mind all day. "So, Randy, how's business treating you? I hear your practice is doing well, as of late." 

"Yes sir, it's good. Long hours, and Patricia is just about to kill me for canceling almost every time she schedules a nice dinner, but I love what I do." 

Rick nodded. "The new building, still standing?" 

The doctor laughed. "Yes, it sure is. Added a couple new rooms a few weeks ago." 

"Well, business must be good, if you can afford that." The two men never talked of money. It was too risky for Rick, but now, he had no choice. 

Randall chuckled nervously, "I got some pretty uppity patrons." It was a sensitive subject for the doc, as well, but Rick didn't know that. Almost a year ago he had turned in his resignation to Dr. Swane, his conscious getting the better of him and seeing that a man no longer running illegal operations had little use for an in house physician. It could have been a soft, easy job, but that hadn't been why Randall had become a doctor. 

A few days later, the boss, soon to be former, burst in to his office and tossed a pamphlet on his desk. "Call the number," the flaming haired man said. He grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, scribbling seven numbers. "It's all set up." 

The doctor was confused, as usual, at the man's erratic behavior. "What?" 

"If I have to explain it then you are too stupid to deserve it." The CEO stalked out, mumbling something to himself, as he was so prone to do these days. 

The doctor on the other hand put on his newly required pair of reading glasses. It was the reality section of the newspaper. The doctor dialed the numbed and waited. Almost immediately a female voice picked up. "Hello, Doctor Swane, family physician's office. How may we help you?"

Randall hung up, shocked. So, Buddy Pine had purchased him his own practice. He had his own practice, his dream. Later, when he had moved into his practice, still his dream, it did not diminish simply due to its fulfillment. Yes, it was hard word with late nights and rude patrons, but he loved it. 

Of course, as was with all things, it came with a slight catch. His practice had come with a preset list of patients, provided by Buddy Pine himself. Many were fine, Pine, of course, and Angela, as well as a number of the guards that Randall remembered, but the list also included a number of ex- and not so ex- villains and convicts. This obviously made the skittish doctor all the more jumpy, despite how cordial the men had become after decades of incarceration. 

Unfortunately, NSA had taken note of the odd coincidence that so many persons on their watch list all visited Dr. Swane. Suspicions were born. Rick hated to bring these concerns up to his friend, but better him than someone else, and if need be, his word was good enough to squelch any lingering suspicions. 

For himself, Rick supposed his word was too good, his past too pristine. Perhaps a dose of good 'ol mistake would do him right, but now certainly wasn't the time to start inciting doubt upon his own personage. After all, tweaking with this particular case would only be his second offense in over thirty years, but since that first time, the temptation had been almost unending and unbearable... 

Rick pulled the cart to a stop in front of the club. They sat in silence, in thought, fears and regrets and pasts holding the middle seat between them. Doc spoke up first. "Really, Rick, I can't say it was fun, but I did have a good time." He looked at his watch, forcedly. "Oh, the wife'll be looking for me." The man groaned getting out, more signs that the two friends weren't as young as they once were. They were less agile, but still, Rick couldn't help at marvel at how much their friendship, as well as they themselves, had changed little from youth. 

"Hey, Randy." 

"Yeah?" 

"Glad to hear about your practice." 

The doctor nodded - was that sweat on his brow? - and answered. "Thank you, Ricky, call me sometime." 

oOo 

Randall wasn't the only late husband. 

Bob Parr let himself in the back door, late. It was almost eleven. He smoothed his disheveled hair and clothes for the umpteenth time. He crept into the bedroom as quietly as was humanly, or super-ly, possible. The living legend took off his clothes, going so far as to change into new everything, including his undergarments, and hiding the old apparel at the bottom of the hamper beneath all of the other dirty clothes. He hoped that would be enough to mute the smell. He put on one more layer of deodorant, and considered cologne, but decided that would be overkill. 

Four months and he still couldn't keep his nerves in check. 

He crawled into bed, holding his breath, until he thought he had successfully kept from waking Helen- 

"How was golf?" 

The groggy voice made him jump. "Good... Rick won." 

"Did you eat?" She mumbled, through a yawn. 

"Um, yes." 

She rolled into him and kissing him on the cheek. "Good."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Incredibles, and I can admit that now…

**A/N:** BLAST!! Anyone else notice that on Chapter 1 it is listed as Chapter 2??? Well… if you didn't notice it IS!! Gosh, I can be such a knucklehead!!

So, this chapter is a little all over the place, but that's kinda how this sequel fic will be. Can we say soap opera multiple plot syndrome??

**Timeline**: Syndrome's trial took one year. Then his house arrest was for four months. I'm guessing that Syndrome was eight when he attempted to become Incrediboy. So during the movie I'm saying that he was twenty-two. I'm also considering that the movie took place during spring. (They did go to a track meet) So Violet had just finished her eighth grade year and was going to be a freshman. Now three years later she is into the second semester of her junior year of high school, and she is **seventeen**, while Syndrome is **twenty-five**. I'm guessing its late August-early-September-ish. There you go, the longest background info you will ever get!!

**Chapter 2**

Mirage walked into the cheap kitchen of her rented apartment, and went directly to the nearest, under-sized, plastic chair, where sat her over-sized, over-night visitor. She kissed his cheek. "Good morning."

The man mumbled similar sentiments, too enthralled with his morning paper to truly reply. Mirage was accustomed to this and let him fully turn his attention back to his routine. However, she also knew what came next in the schedule: the guilty exit. But Mirage had never been one to back down to a challenge, that's why she asked, while pouring herself a cup of coffee to match his own, "You want me to make you something to eat, Bob?"

The man, Bob Parr, hero, father, _husband_, sighed, "You know I can't stay that long." He could never stay _that_ long. Mirage knew why. Breakfast was _her_ arena. An actual, homemade breakfast just wasn't right when prepared and eaten in the home of your illicit lover. Neither was Mirage that much of a cook, but she was feisty and sick of still having so much him kept from her. Mirage was just about to implore harder, but he, it appeared, had already moved on to the next topic on his mind. "_Can you believe this?_" He gestured angrily to paper. "Another article on Buddy-do-good-Pine! I _hate_ him. I mean I really _hate _him. I just can't believe you and him! I mean, how did you even get mixed up with such a freak anyway?"

Mirage couldn't help but think back to a time when Bob himself had been "mixed up" with "freak." She also hadn't been able to help thinking back to those times a lot lately. "It's a long-"

The man dropped his hot cup. "_Crap!_" Bob stood, suddenly. As Mirage ran over with a dish towel, Bob raised his arm to wipe it off, but noticed his wrist watch. "I'm late!" He grabbed the towel, wiping himself off. He then kissed her cheek quickly. The large man ran to the door, grabbing his coat and briefcase on the way out, leaving his other woman feeling more alone that she would ever admit.

Yes, Mirage was lonely.

Mirage was Mirage, but Mirage was lonely. She had no last name, she was just herself, and herself was lonely. She had her job at NSA, luckily not requiring a last name. After landing the job a couple of years ago, with Bob's recommendation, of course, she had quickly moved up the chain of command. Now she was the personal secretary to Rick Dicker. If there was one thing that she was, besides herself and besides lonely, it was efficient.

She owed almost everything to her efficiency. Her efficiency had made her invaluable to Buddy. Her efficiency had made killing easy, that is until Bob Parr came into her life. Her efficiency had made it easy to descent from Syndrome and join the "good guys." Efficiency made her ability to bounce back and gain multiple promotions in NSA quickly. She also owed her current liaison to her efficiency. It was due to her promotions that she ran into Mr. Incredible, literally, for the first time in two years, about four months ago. She was filing some papers on the bottom shelf of a cabinet, when Bob Parr came barreling in, not happening to see the lump of Mirage on the floor.

He tripped and fell, but apparently it was more than just to the floor.

They went out to coffee that day, which turned into dinner the next night, which turned further entanglements that late night or early morning, whichever you prefer, which turned into over-night business trips and extended lunch meetings, and _lies_, so many _lies_.

Sadly, though, whenever he left, he left her with only lonely memories. She had memories of every night and moment with her lover, and maybe, yes, she wanted him because of how wrong it was, but she frankly didn't care.

He saved her, and she loved him for it.

He was her hero, but every time he left her arms, she was also left with other memories. She had memories of none other than Buddy Pine.

Mirage used to have a last name. She also used to have a different first name. She was formerly known as Nichole Caines. She had grown up in a lower, middle class family, in the same house she had always lived in. Her parent's had been busy, keeping their heads above water in the lower-level, corporate swimming pool, and when at the tender age of eight, discovered their daughter's unorthodox talents, they had the feeling that they were drowning in dark, unknown waters. Neither of her parents were supers. They had no idea how to react to little Niki. Mirage, looking back, realized that they had even been a little afraid of her. Poor Nichole was left to ponder her talents - if they could be called such - and their origins on her own.

Her life took a complete 360-turn shortly after her eighteenth birthday. She was smart enough, but lacked the will and want to excel at school. Her parents took little interest in her grades, as did her friends, therefore why should she?

She had just gotten a job at a small coffee shop owned by a pretty newly wed, named Honey Best. The woman was nice enough and the work easy enough and the pay more than enough, but Nichole was bored. She was working under the pretense of saving up for college, but lacked the surety that college was her next step. Really, she had no idea what the _next step_ was, except that it would be away from here.

Then, one day, he walked in.

Looking back now, it was by no means a Hollywood, archetypal "moment," but it changed everything. Buddy Pine entered the shop wearing a ratty t-shirt and jeans, his hair too long and in need of a washing.

She recognized him from around high school, but considering he was two years younger and a number of social clicks below her, his name escaped her.

He didn't order like the average costumer, standing in line for ten-plus minutes, staring at the overhead menu mumbling to themselves, finally walking up with a lack of confidence and ordering, usually incorrectly. By contrast, the boy walked straight up to the counter and ordered his drink with confidence, perhaps a little too much. Nichole could feel his eyes on her as she made his order, more desert than actual coffee, but she ignored it. In general, science geeks, as she had identified him, were too easy, easy to read and easy to mess with, but this guy was different.

When she handed him the coffee, he said, "Thanks Niki, if I can call you Niki."

She wasn't surprised. This science looser, sixteen year old must have a thing for her. She smirked. This could be fun. "You know my name?"

"Actually the name tag gave it away."

The dark skinned girl blushed. "Oh." She laughed awkwardly, and he chuckled twice. "What's your name then?" she asked, surprising herself. Was she really that desperate as to be flirting with this guy?

The red head smirked. "Does it matter?" He turned and Nichole decided that the smart elec needed a little bit of a reality check. She decided to use her powers. This was a very rare occasion, because she usually ignored her powers. Except for the few times she had been tardy to class and used her powers or illusion to convince the teacher that contrary to the bell and morning announcements she was right on time.

Her powers had the potential to be quite useful. Nichole could make images appear differently than they actually were, and that is how the young man ran right into the seemingly wide open door.

oOo

Brittany suddenly realized Violet was not beside her. She turned around, seeing her friend still on the high school steps. "Vi, _come on_."

Violet felt like she was going to hurl. "First day of school and I already hate senior year."

Britt rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the wrist. "You look fine. Stop being so pissy and emo."

"Ha!" Violet pulled her hand away. "No one in a _cheerleading uniform _can be classified as emo!"

"Then stop acting like it!" the large busted blond paused, "And let me put some blush on your cheeks. You have the worst pale rings around your eyes. They look sunken in almost. Seriously, how do you even get those?"

Violet pulled back, "No, I've had more than enough help from you."

At the end of junior year Brittany had taken advantage of Violet's sensitive state. With her mom starting her new catering business, dad working late and going on more business trips, Violet was left to watch over five year old Jack-Jack and thirteen year old Dash. Of course, Dash was finally old enough and occasionally mature enough to watch the toddler on his own, but still. Vi was a little more than overwhelmed.

One week when Helen was taking a mini vacation at home, Britt had a "brilliant" plan. Next thing Violet knew she was in the gymnasium, dragged by the blond, just in time for cheerleading try outs. Of course, she tried to fight, but after a couple chuckles from the cheerleading peanut gallery - Yes, Violet may have joined "their" lunch table, but the squad was something totally different - She decided she'd show them.

Villain-rear-end-kicking had managed to finally improve her coordination. She had also learned a basic quick, back handspring. It came in handy for evasion in tight situations. So, with a little encouragement from Brittany, captain extraordinaire, she somehow made the finally cut.

Now, all she need was a midriff tan to match the tiny two piece uniform.

"This is a joke right?" Tony walked up behind the two chuckling. He took in Violet's new look, smirking.

She had to admit she didn't hate the outfit. "Screw you."

"That's my job," Britt said, throwing an arm around Tony's neck. Violet though, could detect a slight blush on Tony's cheeks and had a feeling they hadn't gone as far as Britt would have the public believe.

At that moment the cloudy day decided to save Violet from the rest of the strange looks she was receiving from fellow seniors, who could still recall back when Violet was a secluded loser. With a single clap of thunder and flash of lighting, a light drizzle started to fall. The clouds were spitting, her father would have said, if he had been around anymore to say it.

Britt ran in screaming. Any amount of moisture spelled disaster for her hair, she always said. Tony followed, shaking his head. Violet, on the other hand, stood on the steps. Wet or dry, her hair was dead straight, and there was something about the rain.

It had been a long and dry summer. Her mother's business had sold an unimaginable amount of punch for picnics, usually running out before the party's end. The weather man had announced a long stretch of rain this week. Everyone hoped that it would help the dead grass and flowers bounce back from the mini-drought.

Vi spun around as the rain got harder, most students actually on time, because it was the first day, though the trend wouldn't last, so no one was around to watch her. On her second turn, though, she stopped, a car catching her eye. It almost looked like-

"_Daddy!"_ she yelled, running.

The car didn't even pause, zooming around the corner, out of Violet's sight. She could have sworn that was her father, but he was out of town. Did he get back early? What happened? What-

The bell rang and lighting struck. Violet ran inside, not wanting to be too late on her first day, sure that everything was fine. In the midst of her new position as cheerleader and disgust at homework on the first day, Vi quickly forgot the morning incident.

oOo

"And how does that make you feel?"

Buddy sat up suddenly, from his laying position. "It makes me angry. That's how it makes me feel!"

"Very interesting," she said making some notes. "You seem to be feeling zhat a lot lately, hmm?"

"Don't 'hmm' me, you know as well as I do that I'm an angry person." Buddy Pine laid back down, frustrated. He had never been good with feelings and could have strangled Doc when he prescribed therapy.

"Vell, vhat things haf been making you angry?"

"Okay, now we're talking. First off, Angela. I mean really, where the heck does she get off telling me where to go and what to do? I mean, come on!"

The little woman shrugged. "Vell she iz you secretary."

"And what is with all my favorite bars being closed on Sunday?" Buddy stood pacing. "I mean, God knows I need to drink. Also, I am getting pretty sick of getting calls at two in the morning for Dr. Drakken asking me to post bail. Just because I'm loaded and he helped me out of that jam that one time, does not freakin' mean I want to pay his way outta prison every time that cheerleader kicks his rear! And I'm pretty upset over Mr. Incredibles getting Man of the Year, I mean, yes; I did pull out of the race, making him the default winner. I know that was like what, three years ago, but still, it kind of left a sore spot."

"Anything else?"

"Well, there is- wait, no. I have no more to say." The man stood. "Good session E. Even if you're not a real therapist, you're almost as good as those crackpots. Next week then?"

Edna Mode rolled her eyes. "Hmm, interesting. Vell, I suppose another session couldn't hurt."

The CEO rolled up his sleeves. "So, E, how again are you qualified for this?"

"Dahling, if you must know, I haf a degree in psychology as vell in design and rocket science. So zhere. I am perfectly qualified to psychoanalyze you."

Buddy nodded... "_Right._"

Edna made a few more notes. "Two more things before you go. First, haf you efer considered religion as a releviater for stress?"

"Ha, right, what do you think, E?"

"Vell I vas just asking. Anyway-"

"Now that you ask, what religion are you into?"

Edna raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You're German and…" he snapped his fingers trying to think.

"Japanese, German and Japanese. My mozher vas a Japanese super model who on zhe side was a mechanic and my fazher was a fashion designer." She chuckled, hopping up. "I get my height from my six foot mozher, obviously."

"Yeah, so back to my question?"

"Since you asked so politely, my fazher vas a Lutheran and my mozher was an occasional Buddhist." Edna answered shrugging him off.

"And you are?"

Edna sighed, "I am zhe Edna Mode."

Buddy shook his head. "Okay, okay. Let's try rephrasing it and see if that clicks in your foreign mind. Do you believe in an afterlife? What do you think happens after we kick the bucket? I know you E, I mean, you may pretend to be oblivious, but you are smarter than most of our country's figure heads. You have to have a stance on this crap, right?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "I belief zhat zhere iz an afterlife, because I haf to. I dabble with reincarnation, because of a feeling in my gut. I belief in right and wrong. I belief in the supers, and zhat iz all I haf to say on zhe matter."

"Why do you have to believe in a life after this, _mam_?"

"Zhat iz a story not for today."

Buddy shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Oh and vhat I vas saying before I vas so rudely interrupted, vas…" She smiled, but Buddy noted the deep tone in her voice. Though he couldn't tell whether it was what she was going to say next or all the talk of death. "I vant to make you a new suit."

He waited three long beats. "_No_."

"Vhy not!"

"No."

The little woman hopped up on the table, though still shorter than Buddy, they were almost face to face. "I know vhat you are."

Buddy leaned in, not going to back down to the designer. He mimicked her unique, Eurasian accent. "Vhat am I, prey tell."

"You are being a vittle girl." The woman crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back, basking in her success.

Buddy nodded. "Yeah, I'm a little girl. I make rocket science look like a game of tic-tac-toe. I accrue millions of dollars a day. I, who almost defeated _Mr. Incredible_ himself, which, personally, isn't saying much, am a little girl."

"Vell you are."

"You have no freaking idea why I don't want one of your oh-so precious suits. So don't pretend like your shoddy psychoanalysis has proven horse crap."

"If I am so misinformed, vhy don't you explain it to me?"

He shook his head. "Whether I act like it or not, I am sorry about all the crazy stunts I pulled, okay? I don't deserve all the praise. I don't deserve all the fangirls. Not even death can make what I did better. No, I'm so much further bellows those pompous supers that I don't have a right to _touch_ your overpriced suits."

Edna hopped off the coffee table and walked up to him. Those almost looking up at a 90 degree angle, she still made Buddy intimidated. "I too haf made mistakes, but you don't see me, gifing up."

"Right, _the Edna Mode_ did something wrong. Bull!" He turned to walk out, having had enough "therapy" for one day.

"Vait! I'm not finished!"

"Oh shove it, your parents only liked each other 'cause they both lost in the war and felt sorry for each other."

"_You cannot punish yourself forefer!_" Edna thundered.

Buddy grumbled, falling back onto the couch. "Who says I can't?"

"I do," a new voice called.

"Great, my other unofficial therapist."

"Good to see you too Buddy." Angela answered smugly.

Buddy and Edna looked to the door. "Vell, hello, dahling!" She hopped off and ran to the woman.

The women embraced and Buddy gagged. "Hey E! Oh and Buddy, you're ten minutes late for your meeting with Dr. Swane."

He stood. "_What!_ I don't have a freaking appointment! Why didn't you tell me?"

She sighed, interrupted apparently from her friendly chat. "I don't know, maybe it wasn't a meeting. I forget."

"Bull. You know my schedule significantly better than I do."

Angela nodded. "True. Therefore, give me a little credit whenever I yell at you to do something!"

"Fine, just tell me where I'm supposed to go!" He yelled.

"Golf at the Metroville Country Club!" She yelled back.

"Hmm, haf you two ever considered zhe possibility that there might be somezhing there?" Edna asked, slyly. Buddy growled and stomped out. "Vhat did I say?"

oOo

Rain made Bob forgetful.

Something about the soft pitter-patter. Maybe it drowned out the ticking of the cheap clocks in her apartment, or perhaps the clouds covered the sun, making the hours look the same. Either way, his business trip had been extended a few days, but now he was finally home. Unfortunately, he had no desire to be.

He was home alone. No one wanted to be home alone.

Helen would be out at a wedding until late the next morning. She had been able to enlarge her little business, by pulling Honey into the mix. The woman had once owned a coffee shop, Bob seemed to recall, and was surprisingly good at keeping the younger workers in line. Violet would be home late, because there was a football game. Apparently she was a cheerleader. When that happened, Bob Parr had no idea. Dash was staying for the game with a bunch of his Junior High football friends. Jack-Jack had just started going to a special kindergarten provided by NSA for super children. They also provided day care. Violet had promised to pick him up after the game.

Bob was entirely alone. That's why he called Mirage.

He called her, and after he hung up Rick called to remind him about their golf game today. He'd blown Rick off too many times to ignore him again. It was already past the point of them both knowing he was lying between his teeth when it came to excuses. Thank God he hadn't noticed that his secretary was always gone during those attempted male bonding trips.

Bob called and called and called, but Mirage never picked up. He couldn't wait any longer and still possibly get there at a less-than-fashionably late time frame. He sped down the high way to some country club, hitting redial, again and again. He pulled into the parking lot, praying that Mirage would check her messages before heading over.

The rain had stopped just after noon, and though it was still over cast, it was a welcome reprieve.

Too bad it wouldn't last.

He walked into the main lobby and immediately saw Rick, surrounded by two other men. "Hey Rick, sorry I'm late." As they turned towards him, he summed up the first man. He was chubby, balding, and familiar. Perhaps from a group picture in Rick's office? Then Bob looked to the second man. He was young and…

_You have got to be freaking kidding me_.

Rick stepped forward. "Bob, this is Dr. Randall Swane, a college friend of mine, and this is Buddy Pine."

The red head stepped forward and extended a hand. "We've met."

Bob didn't move. "We've met."

Buddy smirked and took his hand from the hanging space, after a few awkward beats. Then he winked.

Bob shook with anger but managed to get a hand forward. "I'll shake your hand _now_-"

"Well, we better get out on that golf course." Rick pushed Bob forward, knowing that Buddy Pine was that close to having multiple, broken phalanges. Bob pushed him back, but walked out the door. The two men picked up their pace, as to have a quick private conference.

When Bob judged they were far enough out of ear shot he began. "What the hell, Rick?"

"Now, Bob, you think I had any idea 'bout this?" Rick looked strange to Bob, not wearing his usual suit. He had exchanged it for a more casual pair of khakis and a polo. Yes, he had seen him on weekends for bar-b-qs, but with the sudden appearance of Syndrome, it all was too much for Mr. Incredible. "Pull yourself together. You aren't in mortal danger, just a very tense situation."

"Yeah, defcon 1, could just about cover it." Bob put a hand to his head, wishing more than ever that he had opted to stay at home.

"Dr. Swane is a friend of mine. We went to college together."

"So you said."

Rick inhaled, letting himself slip in some words of comfort, though they held little matter. "I swear, he's clean as a whistle."

"If he's so clean, how'd he get mixed up with Syn?" Bob asked, glaring at his arch nemesis, who was looking, pushing away the older man, who was trying to make him try on a hat, back in the lobby. Bob thought he caught the word "hat hair."

"Buddy Pine is one Dr. Swane's clients. Stop givin' me that look, Bob. Dr. Swane is one of my closest friends and one of the most highly recommended family physicians in the city. Like I said, clean as a whistle."

"No one connected to him is clean. He's like the plague."

Rick looked to the younger man. "He's been a model citizen and philanthropist for over three years, Bob. The man changed."

Bob shook his finger, but pulled back, not quite forgetting that he was currently a private citizen and not almighty Mr. Incredible. "I watched _that man_ almost kill my wife and children, without a second thought. I watched him almost kidnap my son, Rick. That man deserves _nothing_."

Rick didn't move; his monotone voice made no inflection. "We all do things that are wrong. That's what makes us human."

There was a knowing in Rick's voice that made him wonder, not for the first time, if Rick _knew_ about some of his more tawdry, human qualities, but those thoughts were quickly pushed away. Pine and the older man walked up. "Well, are we just going to stand here or what? How about you, _Bob_? You afraid to lose?" Buddy playfully slugged him on the arm. "_You afraid?_"

"I'm not afraid of the likes of you."

The other three men exchanged glances, all wondering how much the other knew, and doubting whether any of them would leave this little outing alive. Finally, the four collected their equipment and headed out to start a World War III, golf style.

Rick of course, was still great, and Randall still horrible, but this time he wasn't the worst. Bob far surpassed him. Of course, being rich, Buddy Pine had taken up golfing to release tension from the stress of millions of dollars going through his hands daily.

Bob couldn't believe it. The game dragged painfully onward for Bob, the gap between his and Pine's score quickly increasing. Bob had even stooped to stomping on the ground, with all his strength, to throw off the younger man, but to no avail.

Bob hit the ball for the umpteenth time. It went sharply to the left, right into a veritable jungle.

_You have got to be freaking kidding me_.

Syndrome hissed. "Oh, nice hook."

Bob glared before running with little zealous to find his ball, in the unkempt vegetation. After finally finding it, he struggled multiple times to get it out of the tortuous terrain.

"Running up your par, Parr. I could help you, if you want?" Buddy asked, leaning on his golf club, smug as ever.

"No." Then he promptly bent over and swung as hard as he could…

… Directly behind the golf ball.

"There's a fat if I ever saw one," Pine said. Bob glared at him. He shrugged innocently. "What? That's what it's called when you totally nail it into the ground, okay." He took a few steps forward, just to hammer at thin ice. "Got a problem with that?"

Bob threw down his golf club. "Yeah, actually I do have a problem with that-"

Lightning struck and thunder sounded; the rain reprieve was over.

Rick's eyes got wide. "Everyone, quick, get in the golf cart." He hurried everyone on, in the pretense of the safety issue of being on a golf course during a thunder storm, but everyone knew that had little to do with the sudden end to their game.

If it mattered, which to the younger players it did, Buddy won.

As the men went into the country club to drop Randall Swane's rented golf equipment - who had said no more than six words the entire day. He was terribly skittish and very afraid of the situation that might ensue, if certain happenings of three years ago came to light - Buddy slowed down, stopping Bob. He held out his hand for the second time. "Good game?"

"No."

Buddy chuckled, his shoulders shaking, just like Bob remembered. "Fair enough."

"No," Bob said, his voice cold and hard. "No, you don't play _fair_."

"What are you implying?" Buddy asked, then nodded. "Actually, you know what, maybe I don't." He walked, almost paced, behind the balding man, and took a look at his golf clubs. "You really shouldn't leave these out. Something so preciuous'll get stolen." He pulled one out, appraising it. "They're nice. A gift I assume."

"Why should I tell you?" The man asked, taking hold of the club. Buddy relinquished it without a fight.

"Just wondering. I bet you got those for Father's Day. Am I right, Bob?" Buddy smirked, as he watched the old man's vein on his neck contort. "In any case, you _really_ should be more careful with things like that, things that you care about. You don't know who might come along and just snatch those things away." He snapped his finger. "_Like that._" He nodded his head and left, not bothering to say goodbye to Dr. Swane.

Bob gave a listless but cordial goodbye to Rick and Dr. Swane, before making his own exit. He headed home, the rain slowing him and the rest of the traffic down to a standstill. His head was filled with dark thoughts, none involving what could have possibly happened, if Mirage had not gotten his messages.

oOo

No, she had definitely NOT gotten his messages. So when she arrived, she was entirely unprepared for what she met.

It was raining cats and dogs, so Mirage made quick work of the Parr's driveway. Usually she took her time getting to the one place where she truly felt uncomfortable. She never went past the threshold. It had been a sort of unspoken agreement she and Bob shared. She went to the door, rang the bell, and he would always answer.

Mirage fulfilled her part of the routine - with Bob it was all about routines - but Bob, for once, did not.

"Mirage?"

She blinked. "Violet?"

"Um... can I help you with something?"

"Where is your father?"

The younger girl squinted her eyes. "I don't know. I just got home." 

It was then that Mirage noticed the girl's apparel: a very revealing cheerleading uniform. She sent up an unusual prayer, thankful for any deflection - and this time her powers could be of no help. "Oh, I had no idea you were a cheerleader."

The dark haired girl chuckled, embarrassed, and perhaps there was a slight defensive tone in her voice? "Yeah, I had a game today, but it was canceled because of the lightning, ya know, big open football field, metal field goals. It's not the best of plans."

"No I suppose not."

Violet nodded, looking around, awkward. After a few painful moments, she asked, "So anything I can help you with?"

"Yes, well Rick sent me... to speak with your father about a confidential matter."

Violet nodded - convinced? "Well, I don't know when he is getting back, but you can wait for him inside the house."

Mirage shook her head and brought up her hands. "_No!_" She cleared her throat, realizing how odd and off put her reaction was. "I mean, I should really get back to the office. Rick has to be struggling without me." She smiled, out of her realm, at least where teenage girls were concerned, even more so when she was romantically involved with their married fathers.

"Okay then, I'll tell him you came by." She smiled, but was more than alarmed by the sudden appearance of Rick's secretary. Rick had become a more than frequent presence in the household. Violet sighed inwardly at the thought of Mirage being added to the mix.

Mirage stepped off the porch and into the rain, almost tripping, walking backwards off the steps. "Just tell Bob. Just tell him." Violet nodded. She had never seen the woman so disheveled. The rain rolled off her white hair. She looked even more beautiful, if that was possible, when her hair was matted down by the drenching. She peeled out, the rain splaying from underneath her tires. Violet was sure that she would have left tire marks if it hadn't been raining.

"Who was that?"

Vi jumped, startled. She turned to thirteen year old Dash. His voice was still mid-change, she caught it occasionally undeterminable from her father's, but then it would go back to his boyish squeal, yelling about the unfairness of his middle child situation. "Mirage. She was acting kind of strange."

"Not much stranger than you, I'm sure." He squeaked.

"Haha, very funny. Hey, frick!"

"What?"

"I should have asked her for a ride to pick up Jack-Jack!"

Dash nodded, "up, you should've. Sucks to be you." The boy zoomed off, probably to play one of his lame internet games. Violet shook her head. Dad was going to be mad, whenever he got home. She was supposed to have picked up her little brother, but with the game cancelled she and Dash had just caught rides on the bus, with Brit going home with Tony after school. Supposedly they hadn't spent enough alone time together, lately. Vi sighed. "Frick."

She sat down, putting off her homework - Yes, homework on the first week - in preference to the television. Not fifteen minutes later, she heard the garage door. Vi crossed her fingers that her mom had finished early, but Minutes later when the door opened and slammed, she knew it was her father. She heard mumbling under his breath. She wondered why. "Dad?"

She heard the movement stop. "Violet?"

"Yes..?" She stood and walked to the kitchen.

"I thought you had a game."

She chuckled, looking down at her still cheerleading apparel. "Canceled, rain."

He nodded once. "Right. Your brothers here then?"

"Just Dash."

"What about Jack-Jack."

"I couldn't go get him."

"Why not?" His voice was sharper than Violet felt her answer deserved.

She answered with a memorized teenage defiance. "Because Brittany couldn't take me."

Bob shook his head. He wasn't a fan of Brit. "What a surprise. She not have time for that?"

Violet huffed. "Yeah, actually she didn't. You know she does quite a lot for me, with, you know, me not having a car or anything."

"Are you complaining, young lady?"

"No, I'm just saying that Brit couldn't take me, and wondering what's so wrong with that!"

Bob threw up his hands. "Nothing, nothing. I'll just go get your brother, don't worry yourself at all."

Violet watched as he grabbed his keys off the island and turned to leave again, and then she struck out. "Oh one more thing: Mirage stopped by."

He stopped, hand on the knob.

"She said Rick needed to tell you something," Violet said. She could feel the change in the vibes in the air around her, and was more than a little alarmed. "Everything ok?"

'"Uh, yeah. Everything's great, well as far as I know. Good, great, I'll go and see him while I'm getting Jack-Jack."

"Right, ok. Drive safe."

"Yeah, I will."

Violet watched him exit, still disturbed by his reaction. She couldn't put her finger on it, but since becoming a super she had been expected to sense disturbances - ignoring the Star Wars reference, and right now, it was screaming at her. She didn't know what, but something just wasn't right.

Finally, Vi shrugged. Her father had been acting oddly lately. She wrote it off to her mother's new business. God, she missed her mom. She was tired, still, with Brit and the family and learning how to cook, though whether she had passed she was still unsure, and cheerleading and more nightly patrols. She had taken up most of her mother's shifts. NSA did regulate how many daily patrols you could clock, weekly, but with age, the number increased, in only a few short months she'd be able to take on a full adult load, yippee.

She sat down at the table, deciding to actually do her homework. She had finished college history, college English, and was just starting on college calc when the phone rang. She rolled her eyes and rang to get the phone. "Hello, Parr residence."

"Hi, this is Ms. Hull; we are calling because we were wanted to make sure someone was on the way to pick up Jack Parr?"

"Um, Bob Parr left about forty five minutes ago."

"Well, um, he isn't here."

"Oh, uh, you sure?" Violet asked, and the lady once again assured her that her father had not been there. "Well someone will be there shortly." Violet hung up, only to quickly redial her father's number. No one answered. She tried Helen's cell. Her mom had the GPS locator, in case her father had had an accident in the still pouring rain, but no answer. Of course, there was no on answer; the wedding reception had just begun, according to the itinerary Helen had left on the island for the family. Violet then called Brit. "Hey, babe what's the deal?"

"I need a ride."

She heard Brit sigh, and could practically see her head shake. "Awesome, I need to get out. I'll be there in a jiff."

"You ok?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you later."

"Got it."

Violet tapped her foot a full fifteen minutes until the blond pulled up, the top of her top-less car, pulled up. Vi told Dash where she was going and ran out into the rain, only when she was in the car did she realize she was in her cheerleading uniform. "Frick!"

Brit chuckled. "Vi, you never change."

"So."

"Not saying it's a bad thing. It was a simple observation," She smirked, "So, where are we headed again."

"To pick up my brother at daycare."

"And your dad can't why?"

Violet rubbed her eyes, already tired. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. He was being a total jerk, when he left to go get him, but then the daycare calls and is all like he didn't show up. Now, I'm kind of worried, and I don't know, but seriously, babe, thanks for coming."

"No, it's cool. I was glad to leave anyway." She paused, waiting for Violet to appropriately respond, which she did.

"What's wrong?"

"I just can't deal with it anymore."

"_What_?" Violet implored in her appropriate best friend voice. Suddenly she realized that Brittany didn't know where she was going. "_Turn right!_"

"Oh, thanks," she said after pulling a hard U, after having already passed the street. "Anyway, it's just Tony. I mean, he's great, but seriously, it's like he's afraid to touch me. I mean we kiss and a little more than kiss, but that's it. Everyone knows I'm no nun, okay, but do you know what I mean?"

"No, I don't. I mean, when Tony and I were together we didn't do much mostly 'cause neither of us had experience."

"Well, whatever. I doesn't matter, because we are taking a break." She threw the words around, as if they meant nothing. She could have just as easily been talking about the weather.

"What?" Violet asked. "_Turn left!_"

Brit pulled another sharp turn. "I said we are taking a break. He's still my boyfriend, but we are allowed to see other people, for the time being, which is good, because I have a computer nerd coming over tomorrow to fix my computer and I already have spent my entire allowance. Mom and dad are trying to crack down on random hand outs, so I'm in a bind, and I think I'm going to have to rely on my feminine charms as collateral."

Violet slapped her forehead, as they pulled to a harsh stop at the daycare, carefully concealing the top-secret connections. "You are ridiculous. I'll only be a minute."

She ran in, hurrying into the door. After passing through the mock, daycare, an interactive hologram, the top-of-the-line in technology, she typed her personal identification code into the keypad on the back door, and entered into the real NSA headquarters.

She made her way through numerous halls, to the daycare, but as she reached the door, she stopped. Violet turned and headed toward the office section of HQ.

She didn't know what to expect; she certainly didn't expect yelling.

"_Why didn't you call me?_" Violet heard Mirage's voice yell.

"_Because I forgot, okay, I forgot_" Violet jumped at her father's booming voice.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing; She had to see it too. Vi did something she had never done before. She disappeared, leaving her clothes in the hall. She stealthily walked toward the voices. Luckily, the door was open, everyone gone home.

She slid into the open door, and behind a file cabinet, just in time for the show.

"Heaven forbid, Bob, that you could take five freaking minutes to call." Mirage yelled.

"I was _late_!"

"You never think of me." Her words were serious. "You never think how I might feel. It felt wonderful, by the way, standing on your porch, getting offered to come in, by your daughter. Really, thoughtful of you."

The large super threw some papers to the ground. "If I didn't care about you, would I be with you? Would I be risking so much?"

Mirage crossed her arms over her. "Yes, for a little excitement I think you would."

"Yeah, Mirage, for a short spurt of adrenaline, I would cheat on my wife-"

The trash can toppled; the two looked.

They ran out the door, just in time to see a pair of pants being put on by an invisible leg. Bob started to chase the invisible foe, but Mirage pulled him back. "We cannot make her un-see anything."

"Her?"

"Her."

It suddenly clicked for Mr. Incredible. "Violet. Oh no."

oOo

Back at the car, Brittany was filing her nails. Threw open the door and hopped in, the rain getting harder. "What happened to you?" She looked to her friend, clothes rumpled. "Where's your little brother?"

"Just drive."

"Whatever you say." Britt put the car into drive and pealed out, right in front of another car. Violet turned around, and gasped.

It was Rick Dicker.

"What is he doing?" The man, after shaking his head at Brittany's driving, pulled into their now vacant spot. He quickly got out and ran into the building, hunching his shoulders to the rain. Violet nodded, as they turned a corner. "He was never at the office."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing."

"Probably because it isn't."

"Care to share?" Britt pulled another ninety degree turn, and Violet swore she felt the wheels on her side leave the road.

"Not really, besides the fact that I think my dad is real jerk."

"Your dad hates me." Britt went on, rambling on about herself, moving from Bob's obvious dislike of her, to what she was going to wear tomorrow. Violet couldn't decide whether Brittany was just that conceited to turn every topic to herself, or if she actually knew that Violet needed a distraction.

Brittany drove and chatted. When they arrived back, Violet was almost asleep. "Babe, you sure you don't want to just crash at my house or something?"

Violet mumbled, not yet awake. She shook her head, as an answer, and in an attempt to push away the dreams of half-sleep. "No, no. I can't."

"Ok, I'll see you in the morning. Don't forget about practice after school."

Violet nodded and got out, running to the door. She watched Brittany drive away. Her friend always waited till she was at the door to make her show of leaving, usually make neighbors shake their heads and grab their children. Violet too, shook her head, but that was Britt for you, and Violet loved her.

Vi made her way inside, to wait for her father. What she would say she had no idea, but she knew that when the time came the words would come also. So Violet bided her time. She finished her homework. She painted her nails. She had just started to fold some laundry when Dash walked into the kitchen. "Hey is there anything to eat?"

Violet jumped, startled. "Crap, I forgot you were here."

"And you forgot to make dinner."

"_Crap!_ Ok, ok, what do you want, you little insect."

Dash ran up, quicker than Vi's eyes could register. "Hey, if you haven't noticed, I'm not so little anymore."

"So what?"

"So you should cut it out, _cheerleader_."

"Hey, if you want to eat, shut your mouth."

Dash raised up his hands. "How will my not talking improve your cooking skills, or lack there of?"

"Shut up, you brat. Don't you have homework?"

Dash chuckled. "I'm the fasted teenager alive; don't you think I would have finished it already?"

"No, not really."

The boy sighed. "Fine, but don't make anything too disgusting. I don't know if I can handle anymore of your failed attempts at macaroni."

Violet reached out to give him a "hit of love" but he was already gone. She sighed; he had the most irritating power. Vi went to work on her makeshift meal: pasta salad out of a box and some microwave-able hotdogs. The two ate in silence, but Violet knew, that Dash knew that something was up.

"Where's dad?"

"How should I know," Violet answered, getting up to grab some more to drink.

"Because you're acting funny."

"Am not." Violet sat back down. "You get to do dishes."

"_What!_" his voice squeaked.

"You heard me."

"Just because I asked some questions you're going to make me do the dishes?"

"No, you haven't done them in freaking forever, and I am sick of getting pruney hands."

Dash stood, menacing at a quickly growing height. He used his speed to grab all the plates on the table, and raced over to the sink. Violet called out a hey, because she had yet to finish, but she knew it was no use. In less than three minutes, he was done. "There, happy?"

"Ecstatic."

"Whatever, I'll be in my room."

Violet shook her head, when it rained it pour. She looked outside; it was pouring. She continued cleaning. She had just found one of Jack-Jack's toys under the table, when the garage door opened.

She stood, hitting her head on the table. "_Frick!_"

She heard her father jumped, shaking the house. When she stood, they caught eyes.

"Quiet, he's asleep."

Violet said nothing, simply stared.

"Where's Dash?"

"In his room."

Bob nodded. "You eat dinner?"

"Yes, I made dinner. There's some in the fridge. Let me take Jack." Violet closed the physical gap between them, taking the toddler into her hands. She couldn't help but look to her father; his brow was covered with sweat.

Violet went into the nursery. She laid the baby onto the changing table, slipping off his little fire-proof shoes. She could feel when her father entered the room. "Violet-"

"No." She laid the baby down in his child-sized bed, with fire-proof sheets.

"Violet, I-"

She turned around. "I said no." She then pushed past him and into her own room, shutting the door quietly. Violet locked the door, and sat at her computer. She pulled up a recent interview with Buddy Pine. They were so numerous; she was almost always bound to find at least one recent one. She set it to repeat, and laid down, falling sleep to the sound of his voice.


End file.
